Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія

           Underthefloodofdullbluelustre,thegravelledwalkslayvagueamidthegrasses,likewebsofwhitesatinonthebedofalake.Againsttheeasternwalltheheadstonesofthegraves,anindistinctprocessionofgreycowlsrangedthemselves.

           Vanameecrossedthegarden,pausingtokisstheturfuponAngele’sgrave.Thenheapproachedthelineofpeartrees,andlaidhimselfdownintheirshadow,hischinproppeduponhishands,hiseyeswanderingovertheexpanseofthelittlevalleythatstretchedawayfromthefootofthehilluponwhichtheMissionwasbuilt.

           OnceagainhesummonedtheVision.OnceagainheconjureduptheIllusion.Onceagain,torturedwithdoubt,rackedwithadeathlessgrief,hecravedanAnswerofthenight.Onceagain,mysticthathewas,hesenthismindoutfromhimacrosstheenchantedseaoftheSupernatural.Hope,ofwhathedidnotknow,rousedupwithinhim.Surely,onsuchanightasthis,thehallucinationmustdefineitself.Surely,theManifestationmustbevouchsafed.

           Hiseyesclosed,hiswillgirdingitselftoasupremeeffort,hissensesexaltedtoastateofpleasingnumbness,hecalleduponAngeletocometohim,hisvoicelesscrypenetratingfaroutintothatseaoffaint,ephemerallightthatfloatedtidelessoverthelittlevalleybeneathhim.Thenmotionless,proneupontheground,hewaited.

           Monthshadpassedsincethatfirstnightwhen,atlength,anAnswerhadcometoVanamee.Atfirst,startledoutofallcomposure,troubledandstirredtohislowestdepths,becauseoftheverythingforwhichhesought,heresolvedneveragaintoputhisstrangepowerstothetest.